


heaven, we hope, is just up the road

by mysweetadeline



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 16:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18285692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysweetadeline/pseuds/mysweetadeline
Summary: Who’s the girl?She asks, rather nonchalantly, with her gaze fixed on the portrait. You can detect curiosity without much effort and that’s saying something for Natasha.You breath in too sharply, and you’re not sure if she notices. The bunker smells of dust and mold, the sharp tang of iron hitting your nose.





	heaven, we hope, is just up the road

**Author's Note:**

> this gets kinda dark, kinda fast.

_ Who’s the girl? _

 

She asks, rather nonchalantly, with her gaze fixed on the portrait. You can detect curiosity without much effort and that’s saying something for Natasha.

 

You breath in too sharply, and you’re not sure if she notices. The bunker smells of dust and mold, the sharp tang of iron hitting your nose.

 

Her picture - Peggy’s - is hung slightly, below Howard’s. She would have hated that, you think, she would have scoffed, she would’ve -

 

You’ve taken too long, and her green eyes are burning into the back of your head like a cat waiting for prey.

 

Or maybe it’s more concern, you can never really tell with Natasha, she’s always been a mystery to you. Almost like Peggy in a way, in a way she reminds you, in a way she -

 

You turn and walk away, you’ve always been known to linger - pull it together Rogers - and your measured steps seem loud compared to Natasha’s quiet ones. 

 

She doesn’t mention this again, but the answer surfaces all the same.

 

***

 

_ Who’s the girl? _

 

Her hair brushes softly against your neck as she peers over your shoulder. The curiosity is evident in her voice this time. 

 

You smile, and she mistakes it for blushing. But you’re really smiling because she’s letting you see her this way, peaceful and unguarded, her small frame covered only by wrinkled pyjamas. 

 

There’s a small stretch of quiet time between missions, and the living room of the Avengers compound seems to be the only place to fill it. 

 

You’re staring at the facebook profile of a girl you met a week ago at your favourite cafe. To your credit, you had made the first move, joking about her strange order of hot chocolate in the summer. She had laughed, showing rows and rows of perfect white teeth, and tucked her golden blonde hair behind her ear. 

 

_ I’m Ariella _ , she told you, extending out her hand. And that’s when it started; you sitting by the cafe everyday hoping to see her again.

 

“Well she’s definitely pretty,” Natasha pulls you out of your thoughts. She scrolls through all the photos and scrutinizes each one. “How’d you find her facebook? I wasn’t even sure you knew how to use the microwave”. 

 

You snort, then absentmindedly rub the back of your neck. “Ariella’s not a common name,” you say bashfully, avoiding Natasha’s gaze.

 

It’s her turn to laugh. “You mean you stalked every facebook page with that name until you landed on the right one?” She shakes her head. “I’m impressed, Rogers.”

 

“It’s not like that,” you try to look at her sternly. 

 

“Whatever you say,” Natasha’s hips sway as she walks away. 

 

***

 

_ Who’s the girl? _

 

She’s standing right behind your spot on the couch. You jump, and your pencil scrapes a faint line across the paper. You didn’t hear her come in. Five years of knowing her and she can still sneak up on you. 

 

_ It’s you _ , you try to say, twisting around to look up at her, but the words don’t quite make it out your mouth. 

 

“What you like it?” The corners of her lips turn up, and she runs her hand through the silver locks. 

 

You open your mouth, _ it looks great _ , you want to say,  _ you look great _ , you want to tell her,  _ you - you look beautiful, _ you almost -you almost -

 

“I don’t know,” she’s checking her reflection in the sliding glass doors across the living room. She’s taking your silence as contemplation - thank god - and she tosses her hair to one side. 

 

“I needed to change it,” she smiles back at you, that half smirk you’re so familiar with, “Ross and his friends are on the lookout for red hair, and I can’t just throw on a cap and jacket like you and Sam as a disguise, the colour is just too distinct.”

 

“I like the change, Nat,” your stupid, slow brain finally manages to spit something out. You hold up your sketch pad with a wry smile, “good thing I didn’t colour it.”

 

She freezes suddenly, her eyes locked on the drawing, and your heart speeds up.

 

Suddenly she’s sitting next to you on the couch, and her hands are holding it, her eyes examining. “It’s me,” she states quietly, her face unreadable and her voice edging with something, something you can’t quite figure -

 

“Yeah,” you’re quiet, watching her reaction. You can feel a blush creeping up your neck. “It’s a quick sketch - I was just testing out my new charcoal -”

 

“Thank you,” Natasha cuts you off, and there’s something off in her voice. Her hand quickly brushed at the side of her face you can’t fully see, and she might’ve - might’ve been brushing at a tear. 

 

 _Thank you,_ she says again, she’s quieter this time. She flashes a smile at you. “I can’t remember the last time someone drew me - but it wasn’t like this.”

 

She runs her hands through her hair. “You don’t have to colour it, I like it the way it is. Can I keep it?”

 

You smile back at her _.  _ “Of course,” you say as you carefully rip the page off the sketchpad. You hand it to her, and her fingers brush against yours as she takes it. 

 

***

 

_ It’s Peggy  _

_ It’s always been Peggy, hasn’t it?  _

 

There’s a trace of something else in Natasha’s voice - sadness? melancholy? You’re not quite sure. 

 

Her hand is holding the compass, one of the only things that survived the ice with you - and  _ it’s funny _ , you think,  _ soon it will outlive me too, of all things, when both of us should have died with the past.  _

 

“Stop that,” her voice is so sharp that you flinch. “Don’t you dare, Steve.”

 

You look over at her, and her eyes sparkle in the darkness of the quinjet. The air around you is still. 

 

While her mouth is set in a thin line of grim determination, yours is hung with acceptance. 

 

You will have to land soon, and then Natasha will send the signal to Carol, and then -

 

You don’t want to think about what comes next. 

 

“Nat”, your voice is soft, but she still won’t meet your eyes. 

 

“Natasha”, you try to force your voice into something more stern, more commanding but it comes out garbled and weak and desperate. 

 

You take her hand and her eyes flit to yours, only for a second, but it’s enough to see the truth. 

 

She’s scared.

 

You begin gently. “When it happens -”

 

“ _ If _ ,” the fear in Natasha’s eyes are replaced with anger,  _ or perhaps _ , you think,  _ just more fear _ . She wrenches her hand from your grip and sets the compass on the counter, the crisp sound of metal against metal bouncing around walls. 

 

“ _ If _ it happens.”

 

You grab her arm before she can walk away. “ _ If _ ,” you stare her down, “it happens, that compass needs to go to Howard,” your voice strains, “promise me.” 

 

She’s quiet for a beat too long, but then she nods, slowly, and a single tear escapes from her left eye, rolls down her cheek and disappears into her jaw. 

 

“I promise.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

She stands there for a second, completely still, and then you wrap your arms around her, breathe her in. 

 

You feel her lean into you, her head nuzzled in the crook of your neck like a child seeking comfort. 

 

“Natasha,” you utter, and she lets out a ragged, shaky breath.

 

She pulls back so she can look into your eyes, straight into them, like she’s searching for your soul.

 

“I love you,” she says and her eyes are wide, wide open. Then her frown deepens. “So don’t die on me, Steve.” 

 

You look at her, take her in. Some part of your brain is humming, and another part is screaming - but you ignore it. 

 

“I won’t”, you say and there’s a strength behind your words. The action comes easily; you lean down and kiss her. Your hand is cupping her face and you feel the slight wetness from the tear. 

 

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it, only kisses you back. 

 

The air around you is sweet. It feels like time might have stopped, just for the moment. But the quinjet is still gliding, closer and closer to your inescapable fate. 

 

***

 

You’re cold -  _ so so _ cold. You’re right arm is throbbing and you can’t feel your legs. Something warm and sticky and red slides down you’re face, obscuring the vision of your right eye. You feels the beginnings of that heavy acceptance wrap its way around your chest, crushing you down and pulling your eyes closed. 

 

There’s something there, underneath all the dejection and resolve and you reach for it - it’s fear. Hot, white, blinding fear that crawls it’s way out and presents itself, solid and unyielding. 

 

It takes the last of your strength, the last of the serum running through you veins to carve the words in the dirt.  _ She’s gonna be mad _ , you know this, maybe even mad enough to miss your funeral, but you need - you need her to know. You need to tie up all the loose knots this time around, there can’t be any uncertainty, any regrets because this is it; your time has finally come. 

 

You have no fight left in your body, and it gives way to the darkness. As your eyes flutter close you see a face in the haze that shines like fire and -  _ Natasha _ , you say, your words slurred and garbled,  _ I love y-  _

 

***

 

Three words lie innocuously on the dirt ground. 

 

A women lies next to them, and the body of the man who wrote them. 

 

They find her like this the next day. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> raise your hand if you're ready to die during endgame!


End file.
